A rebellion is brewing in Naples, and it tastes like pineapples. In his restaurant on the Via dei Tribunali, the so-called “best known pizza street in the world”, Italy’s most well-known pizzaiolo (pizza chef) Gino Sorbillo has created one topped with the fruit. Outraged Italians accuse him of violating one of the most sacred tenets of pizza-making. In response, Sorbillo, who was himself a pineapple-on-pizza sceptic until recently, points to the excellent contrast in flavour between the sweet, acidic fruit and the three smoked cheeses that he puts on top. Taste, he suggests, trumps the demand for authenticity.
At the heart of the row is a question that has periodically roiled the food world: How much can a preparation be allowed to depart from its “authentic” form, before it becomes a whole other dish? Italians have long mythologised pizza’s role in their nation’s unification in the 19th century (with the red-white-green of the classic margherita representing the tricolore). For them, acceptable toppings include tomatoes, Italian cheeses like mozzarella and scamorza. vegetables commonly found in Italy, such as aubergines and artichokes, mushrooms and meats made with pork. Anything else, including beef and chicken, is a no-no, while pineapple is anathema.
This may be a hard truth for traditionalists to swallow, but the fact is that pizza has been embraced around the world not only for how delectable it is, but also for its incredible adaptability. It has made pizza, almost uniquely among other equally global foods, amenable to every personal and cultural quirk there is, expressed most frequently in the choice of pizza topping: Reindeer meat in Finland, haggis in Scotland, mango in the Philippines and palak paneer in India. Italy, Naples in particular, is rightly proud to be the birthplace of a true classic. But it may be time to accept that pizza now belongs to the world.